Jürgen Flimm's 25-year-old production of Beethoven's Fidelio has returned to the Met for five performances. The dour staging, which moves the action from 17th-century Spain to an anonymous totalitarian regime in the 20th century, is all in grays and other colorless colors, save for Marzelline’s silly red dress. Much of the nastiness in the original direction, such as Jaquino's almost abusive relationship with Marzelline, has been jettisoned. At the end of the original production, a noose was put around Don Pizarro's neck as everyone on stage applauded, cheered and waited for him to him to be lynched. Here he is merely merely led offstage. While I found those features unpleasant originally, without them the drama turned a bit soft. And so, little to see here, but happily, plenty of great singing to listen to.
And speaking of soft, while Susanna Mälkki's leadership was both clean and clear and brought out stunning playing from the Met Orchestra – especially the woodwinds – it could be flaccid. The overture was a bit too quick, and tense moments such as the ends of both Leonore’s and Florestan’s arias completely lacked the type of urgency and hysteria they require. I seem to recall in prior performances that both arias normally leave the audience panting. Here they were matter-of-fact.
But the singing! The Leonore at the 2000 premiere was Karita Mattila in her absolute prime: boyish, desperate, athletic and tonally glowing. Now we have Lise Davidsen, clearly one-of-a-kind, with a voice of such magnificence that one might overlook what a fine, involved actress she is. Very obviously pregnant (after these performances she will take time off to care for the twins she is carrying), she nonetheless gave a totally committed performance, including having to descend a 30-foot ladder in the dark to the dungeon.
Seeming shy and reticent as Rocco presses "him" to marry Marzelline, with puzzled, nervous glances, Davidsen's rage was wild and vitriolic when she lets loose in "Abscheulischer". The aria’s closing moments – fast, furious and ending on a shattering high B natural – were as determined as her tender singing earlier. In the dungeon scene, when she brandishes her gun and threatens Pizarro, her sheer volume and obvious fury were the things of real drama. The glorious duet, "O namenlose Freude", with Florestan matching her in the release of tension note-for-note, was unforgettable. And the vocal thrills on stage even activated Maestra Mälkki, who generated plenty of heat from there until the opera’s close.
Her Florestan, David Butt Philip, a lirico-dramatic tenor with a large, bright tone, was equally impressive. His opening note, a high G on the word "Gott!", began softly and crescendoed into a huge cry of desperation. He had no trouble with the punishing aria that followed, even in the difficult coda when he had to reach high B flats often and clearly. And he sang and acted Florestan’s situation – first grief and misery and then joy and relief – just about ideally.
As the archvillain Pizarro, Tomasz Konieczny startled with his huge sound, perfect diction and sheer nastiness. He snarled, he hissed and he was terrifying. Rocco, the kindhearted jailer, was sung by René Pape, returning to the role he essayed in the production's premiere a quarter-century ago. If the voice has lost a bit of its richness, it is still a formidable instrument, which he wields with great character and authority. Shorn of his cruelty, Magnus Dietrich's Jaquino was just a nag, albeit one who sings very well. Ying Fang was a lovely, pearly-toned Marzelline, whose naïveté and purity are rewarded at the end – by director Flimm – by seeming to lose her mind, dropping her bouquet of roses one at a time, as if in a trance. The two Prisoners who stand out in the first act chorus, Jongcheol Cha and Jonghyun Park, made much of their small contributions.
And so despite the dreary production and at times too peaceful conducting, to miss Davidsen and the other great singers in this show would be a pity. Tickets are scarce but available for the remaining performances.
